


Leave the World Behind Until Tomorrow

by poetzproblem



Series: Worlds Away [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Experimentation, F/F, Faberry Week, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The atmospheric phenomenon currently darkening his doorstep has nothing to do with the clouds gathering outside and everything to do with the tempestuous convergence of hot and cold fronts happening right inside his loft. Because Quinn Fabray is storming around in his kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave the World Behind Until Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Written for Faberry Week, Day 2 - Experimentation. Title from Camel's _A Song Within A Song_.
> 
> Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Glee_ or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

_Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.  
_ _~Emily Dickinson_

_xx_

Clear skies, they said.

Kurt should have known better to listen to any weatherman. It's the only career in the world where one can be completely inaccurate ninety-nine percent of the time and still remain employed. He really should have gone into meteorology instead of drama—he could have coasted through life while still achieving some modicum of fame as a local celebrity. But he supposes that's really beside the point since the atmospheric phenomenon currently darkening his doorstep has nothing to do with the clouds gathering outside and everything to do with the tempestuous convergence of hot and cold fronts happening right inside his loft.

Because Quinn Fabray is storming around in his kitchen.

He frowns as he edges closer, watching her bang a pan onto the stove and take a knife to a bunch of poor, defenseless carrots. Kurt wonders how the climate could have shifted so suddenly from blissful sunshine and rainbows to the menacing thunder and lightning currently flashing in Quinn's eyes.

"Dare I ask?" he questions cautiously.

Quinn's gaze snaps to him, and an irritated breath passes her lips. "She's so frustrating," she mutters, shaking her head before she goes back to decimating the carrots.

There's only one  _she_  to whom Quinn could possibly be referring, and Kurt's frown deepens. "What happened? Just this morning you were happily defiling one another against the kitchen counter." He'd taken a bottle of Lysol to the area before they'd made breakfast (just to be on the safe side) even while he'd been silently cheering that all of the unresolved sexual tension between them was finally resolved—or as Santana would say, ever so crassly, they're finally  _banging bumper to bumper on the freeway of love._

Quinn sends him a glare, but he ignores it as he sinks down into a chair at the kitchen table and props his chin onto his hand, silently waiting for her to confide in him. He's seen the soft, squishy, pink-flannel-wearing, Rachel-Berry-loving side of Quinn Fabray, and she doesn't scare him (much) anymore—especially when he can see the familiar vulnerability glittering in her eyes beneath the well-practiced scowl.

She bows her head over the mutilated carrots with a ragged sigh. "She's pissed at me because I was honest with her about something that happened before we were together," she finally growls, lifting her head to frown at Kurt. "Before we were together, Kurt!" she repeats heatedly, recklessly waving the knife around in the air in front of her. Kurt instinctively leans away, and Quinn shakes her head. "I should have just  _not_  told her." Her eyebrow arches, and she points the knife at him accusingly. " _This_  is what I get for being open and upfront about things."

Kurt barks out a laugh—he can't help it. "Oh, honey. You have a long, long way to go before you're even in the same zip code as open and upfront." Reticence has been Quinn's modus operandi for as long as he's known her—it's the one thing that her every incarnation have shared, from the bitchy cheerio to the pregnant teen to the antisocial punk and the assiduous Yale student in love with his best friend.

Quinn scowls at Kurt right before she tosses a piece of diced carrot at his head. Unfortunately for Kurt, her aim is much better than Rachel's, and he doesn't quite manage to duck in time to avoid the flying vegetable. It bounces off his forehead onto the tabletop.

"You  _know_ what I mean," Quinn argues. "I wanted to start my relationship with Rachel on the right foot by not keeping any secrets from her that could potentially come back to bite me in the ass," she says irritably, and they both know how many of her old ones already have, "but I can't do that when she gets all jealous and possessive over every little past hookup."

"Oh," Kurt breathes in sudden understanding, nodding as he leans back in his chair and flashes her a teasing grin. "So you  _weren't_  miserably pining away for her in complete celibacy while you waited for her to possibly be ready to maybe date you?" He hadn't really imagined that Quinn had put her life in New Haven completely on hold in those months when Rachel couldn't move forward from Finn, though he knows that his romantic, starry-eyed best friend probably  _had_  imagined just that.

Quinn aims a doleful expression at him. "I just don't get it," she confesses, scraping back the chair across from him before dropping into it. "Rachel really has nothing to be upset about. We weren't together then, and I didn't think we ever  _could_  be. She was still in love with Finn, and I was," she shrugs, glancing away, "experimenting."

Kurt's eyebrows shoot up at the implication. "I thought she already knew about Santana." There certainly had been enough unsubtle comments from everyone involved to make him think that the details of that little misadventure were already common knowledge.

Pink blooms over Quinn's cheeks as she looks down at the table, absently scratching a fingernail over a tiny divot on the wooden surface. "She did." Quinn admits haltingly. "But she  _didn't_  know about Paige."

Kurt practically swallows his tongue as he gapes at Quinn. "Paige, as in your roommate, Paige?" he asks incredulously.

Quinn's quiet, "Yeah," suddenly makes Rachel's reaction much more understandable to him. He would be upset too if he suddenly found out that Blaine had shared intimate relations with someone with whom he was still cohabitating—even with two other suitemates as a buffer. "But it only happened one time," Quinn insists sharply.

"You're kind of on a roll with the one time things, aren't you?" Kurt quips.

"You sound like Rachel," Quinn growls defensively, curling her fingers into a claw against the tabletop.

Kurt frowns. "Well, to be perfectly fair, your choice of  _experiments_  does make for somewhat awkward living arrangements on both sides." Although he's not entirely certain that Santana is actually planning to move back into the loft once she and Brittany finally return from their endless lovefest, Rachel will have to deal with one of Quinn's ex-liaisons every time one of them visits the other.

Quinn huffs irritably and drops her head into one hand, twisting her fingers into her hair. "Why do you think I  _told_  her? I didn't want her to find out some other way and feel like I was trying to hide it," she murmurs unhappily. When she lifts her eyes, Kurt can see a telling sheen of moisture glistening over her irises. "It was just a thing that happened while I was trying to figure my life out after…after Santana. And Paige thought that  _I'd_ be a good way for  _her_  to get her college experimentation out of the way," Quinn admits with a brittle laugh. "That's really all it was to her."

"What about you?" he has to ask, leaning forward.

"Seriously?" Quinn hisses. "I'm  _in love_  with  _Rachel_ ," she stresses, dropping her hand back to the table with a dull thud. "I've been waiting so long for the chance to finally show her how I feel about her, and being with her now it…it's like breathing. I don't even have to think about it," she reveals with a touch of wonder in her voice—like she can't believe that being with someone could really be that natural. "It's like coming home…even with you constantly interrupting us," she adds with a roll of her eyes.

"Hey! I happen to live here," Kurt defends, watching Quinn crack a tiny smile before it falls away with a sad shake of her head.

"What happened with Paige was just a way for me to prove that I didn't need to be drunk to enjoy fucking a woman."

Kurt crinkles his nose in distaste. "Vulgarity notwithstanding…did you explain that to Rachel?"

Quinn narrows her eyes. "Why no, Kurt, I didn't think to do that," she says with mock enlightenment. "Thank you so much. I'm sure telling her that Paige was just my trusty, lesbian fact-check will make all the difference to her."

Kurt stifles an inappropriate smile at the imagery, and Quinn sighs, leaning back in her chair.

"Rachel didn't want to hear any of it. She wants me to immediately move out of the dorms or find another roommate, and when I told her that she was being ridiculous," and Kurt cringes at this because he can imagine exactly how terribly  _that_  went over, "she said she just couldn't deal with me anymore and stormed off to her rehearsal. She obviously doesn't trust me," Quinn laments with a tremor in her voice. "I thought we were finally in a really good place, but now…I'm not so sure."

Kurt instantly reaches across the table and covers Quinn's hand with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Well,  _I_  am," he reassures her. "You know that Rachel tends to lead with whatever emotion she's feeling in the moment before she takes the time to think things through. Once she calms down, she'll realize that she  _can_ trust you and that she was reacting to something that happened months before you two were even together." He considers this for a moment as he holds Quinn's gaze. "It was months ago, wasn't it?" he checks cautiously.

Quinn nods, glancing away. "A few days before Finn…" she trails off, not needing to finish the sentence.

Kurt sucks in a breath, nodding as well. It's still difficult for all of them to talk about Finn being gone. "Yes, well," he pauses to clear his throat, "I'm certain that Rachel will come to see your candor in this situation as a  _good_  thing. You just need to talk about this like the rational adults that you occasionally can be," he jokes, ignoring the unamused arch of Quinn's eyebrow. "I have faith that you'll work it out," he soothes, patting her hand again. "Now, tell me what I can do to help save our dinner from your angry wrath." He picks up the piece of carrot that she'd attempted to use as a projectile weapon and holds it up as evidence. "It's obviously too late to save the vegetables."

Quinn's eyes narrow. "Keep it up, Hummel, and I'll toss the knife at you next."

Kurt laughingly holds up his hands in surrender. "Let's keep the slicing and dicing confined to the food preparation, shall we?"

A wry smile pulls at the corner of Quinn's lips, likely without her consent, and she swipes away the lingering evidence of moisture from her eyes.

Soon enough, they're working in tandem to have dinner ready for when Rachel comes home—which happens exactly ninety-seven minutes later with a loud bang of the loft door. And that takes some talent since it's a sliding door. Kurt's head snaps up at the noise, and he quickly glances over to Quinn, watching as she turns from putting the finishing touches on their veggie tofu stir fry to face Rachel. He stealthily slides the paring knife out of her reach.

Rachel is tugging her coat off in angry, staccato movements as she walks toward them with a moody expression on her face.

"Hey," Quinn greets her sedately, leaning back against the kitchen counter. She'd calmed down considerably as they'd cooked, the precision of preparing their meal seeming to soothe her in ways that Kurt hadn't been able to. "How was your dress rehearsal?"

"Fine," Rachel says sharply, then purses her lips and scowls. "No. No, it was terrible," she amends, her annoyance clear as she glares at Quinn. "I forgot my lines and choked on the lyrics to 'Don't Rain On My Parade.' Again!" she yells, throwing out her arms in frustration. "And it's all your fault," she accuses, pointing a finger in Quinn's face.

Kurt lifts a hand to rub at his forehead, sensing that this is only going to spiral downhill from here.

It does.

" _My_  fault?" Quinn repeats as she straightens away from the counter, her calm instantly shattered.

"Yes. You," Rachel emphasizes huffily, crossing her arms. "You called me ridiculous."

Quinn's eyes narrow. "Because you told me that I couldn't keep living with someone who's seen me  _in flagrante delicto_." Kurt is ninety-nine percent certain that she's echoing Rachel verbatim. "And then you demanded final approval over my new roommate!"

Rachel makes this odd sort of rumbling grunt, turns around, and paces away from Quinn exactly seven steps before she stops, spins again, uncrosses her arms, and takes four steps back—carefully enunciating, "You had sex with your roommate, Quinn."

"Before we were together," Quinn defends automatically.

"You had sex with Santana before we were together, but you told me about  _her_  months ago," Rachel fires back.

Quinn rolls her eyes—which, in Kurt's opinion, is possibly not the wisest choice that she could have made under the circumstances, especially when she compounds it with, "Actually,  _Santana_  told you about that."

Rachel's hands curl into fists at her side. "That  _isn't_  a point in your favor, Quinn." And this time, when she turns, she paces all the way into the living room with Quinn quickly following behind her. Kurt follows, too, because—well, he hasn't really seen them engage in this kind of rapid-fire argument since the beginning of their sophomore year, and frankly, he's invested too much time and energy rooting for them to finally get together to see all his hard work go to waste now.

There's something almost graceful in Quinn's purposeful strides as she quickly catches up to Rachel and sweeps in front of her. "I'm sorry. Are we keeping score now?"

"If we were, you'd be losing," Rachel growls, planting her hands firmly on her hips.

They're both breathing heavily, toe to toe and nose to nose with chests rising and falling in rapid succession and fire in their eyes—and oh sweet Versace! Is this foreplay? "Perhaps we should all just calm down and talk about this rationally," he hurriedly interjects, attempting to step in between them.

Rachel snaps her gaze in his direction. "I'm not being irrational!"

"Actually," Quinn drawls, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

"No," Kurt cuts her off with a hard look before gifting Rachel with a soothing smile and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "No, of course you're not, honey. You're in love. And when you think about it, it's almost the same thing," he muses.

Rachel frowns and bats his hand away from her shoulder. "You're hardly being helpful, Kurt."

Quinn sighs, ignoring Kurt as she cautiously reaches for Rachel's hand. "Can we talk about this? Calmly? Just the two of us?" she pleads softly before sending a look full of unspoken warning in Kurt's direction

Kurt bristles, huffing out an offended breath.  _This_  is how she rewards him for being their biggest cheerleader? "Fine. I know when I'm not wanted," he tosses at them carelessly, lifting his head high as he tactfully retreats into his bedroom.

Of course, everyone tends to forget that the bookshelf that acts as a border between the living room and Kurt's bedroom is homemade and double-sided and completely see-through between the hodge-podge of objects piled onto the shelves. All he has to do is carefully shift a few books and he has a perfect view—well, _almost_  perfect since he can only see the back of Rachel's head as she sinks down onto the sofa. He's incredibly grateful when Quinn decides to sit sideways, one leg curled under her on the cushions so she can look at Rachel unimpeded.

"Look, I'm sorry I waited this long to tell you about Paige," she begins so quietly that Kurt has to regulate his breathing and strain his ears to hear. "I wasn't trying to hide it from you. It just really didn't mean anything to either one of us. I was still freaking out over what happened with Santana and what it meant for me, and Paige," she pauses with a sigh, shrugging, "she helped."

"I just bet she did," Rachel grumbles sullenly.

Quinn's eyes roll again, but luckily, Rachel still isn't looking at her. "She has a boyfriend, Rach. Even if she didn't, she so isn't into me that way. The sex was…really not good for her," Quinn admits with a rueful smile, and Rachel does turn to look at her now, though Kurt can't see her expression from where he's crouched down and spying on them. "It kind of crushed my ego a little bit, to be honest."

"But it was good for you, wasn't it?" Rachel asks timidly, and even if he can't see her, Kurt can hear the vulnerability coloring her voice. He remembers sitting right there beside her on that sofa not even two weeks ago as she'd admitted to falling in love with Quinn Fabray and battling a recurring nightmare about losing her. He suddenly understands that this whole argument is likely born from that same fear—Rachel imagining a life where she'd been too late in declaring her feelings and had to sit on the sidelines and watch Quinn find happiness with someone else—and his heart goes out to his best friend.

He watches Quinn worry her lip for a moment before she admits that it was, "Good enough. But not great, Rachel. Not something I ever want to do again," she promises, reaching for Rachel's hand and cupping it gently between her own as she gazes deeply into Rachel's eyes. "Not with her."

Rachel's head moves in a slight nod, and she says, "I believe you." Kurt smiles, because he can picture the exact expression on her face when she says it—almost shy and filled with acceptance and that sweet, hopeful look her eyes that speaks of how much she wants to keep you in her life forever. He'd been the recipient of that expression on more than one occasion. So had Santana. So has Quinn—many times—and the expression on Quinn's face now tells Kurt that she's probably thinking the same thing and feeling incredibly grateful to be given the chance to be in Rachel's life forever.

"I'm sorry I got so jealous," Rachel continues, turning over her hand in order to tangle their fingers together. "I know that you love me. I just hate thinking about you living with someone that you've been intimate with that way. At least with Santana, you were drunk."

"And that makes it better?" Quinn asks laughingly.

"It really does," Rachel admits easily. "I can choose to believe that it was sloppy and terrible and that you barely remember it and were pretending it was me the whole time anyway. But Paige is… _blonde_."

Quinn laughs outright at that before she shakes her head, grinning wickedly. "Not really."

"Quinn!" Rachel chastises, giving her arm a soft slap before Kurt hears her laughter join Quinn's.

He watches them fall together like magnets, getting as close as they can get on the sofa with their awkward positioning. Quinn lifts a hand to tenderly cup Rachel's cheek. "If it really bothers you, I'll see if I can switch rooms with Marilyn."

"No," Rachel finally relents. "No, I don't want you to have to uproot everything just because I may be a slight bit possessive of my girlfriend. I really do trust you, Quinn."

The smile on Quinn's face is wide and happy in a way is hasn't been all afternoon. "And you love me?" she murmurs, voice low and soft once again.

"I really, really do," Rachel answers tenderly, curling her own hand around the nape of Quinn's neck as their foreheads tip together intimately. Kurt presses a hand over his heart, biting back a delighted coo at how adorable they are.

"And I love you," Quinn whispers before she brushes her lips over Rachel's in a loving kiss. "And I want you," she adds huskily when she pulls back. "Only you."

And then they're kissing again—and  _adorable_  would very much be the  _wrong_  word to describe it—so Kurt pushes the books back in place and backs away from the shelves, moving swiftly to his bed and his iPod and his high-quality, noise-canceling earphones. He figures he'll give them about thirty more minutes to finish _making up_  in private before he calls out a warning, because there's no way he's skipping dinner after he helped prepare it.

_xx_

Kurt is in the middle of a pleasant dream in which he and Blaine are getting married on a Yacht in the middle of the Adriatic Sea—he isn't sure why they're there but it's better than the nightmare he'd had in which their wedding had happened in a barn—when suddenly Santana Lopez is crashing into his dreamscape with a very loud, very irritated, "What the fuck?" He jerks awake, the tendrils of his warm, happy dream fading into the harsh morning light while the feel of his husband-to-be in his arms transforms into a pillow. He realizes three things rather quickly. One, he is not sailing on the blue, blue water off the coast of Italy but is in his bed in his apartment in Brooklyn. Two, Blaine is  _not_  in his bed because he'd been exhausted after working a late shift yesterday. And three, Santana is apparently back from her excursion and currently kicking his mattress while Brittany wanders into his bedroom with a giant grin on her face.

"Hey, Rainbow Bright," Santana barks, kicking the mattress again for good measure and to make sure Kurt is fully awake. "Why in the hell didn't you tell me that Needy McGayBerry finally got down close and personal with Quinnifer's body?"

"First, ew," Kurt mutters gruffly, shuddering as he tosses off his sheet and sits up. He throws his pajama-clad legs over the side of the mattress and drops his bare feet onto the floor. "And second," he drawls, scowling up at Santana as he drags a hand through his unruly hair, "you've been gone for months."

She rolls her eyes, cocking a hip and planting a hand on it. "Hello?" she snarks. "Cell phones are a thing."

"You never gave me your number," he reminds her as he stands, eyes drifting to the mild commotion happening over her shoulder where a clearly disheveled Quinn and Rachel are buttoning pajama tops and straightening bottoms and attempting to finger comb their obvious sex hair. That would be the  _other_  reason that Blaine had decided not to sleep over last night.

Santana and Brittany obviously came home—unannounced and very unexpectedly—and walked straight into a private moment between Rachel and Quinn in the other bedroom.

"Huh," Santana grunts, tilting her head thoughtfully as she considers the truth of his statement, and then she dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "Well, Quinn had it."

"Then I'm sure that  _Quinn_  could have called you if she'd wanted you to know. In any case, they've only been official for a few days," he explains as he pads out into the common area between their bedrooms.

" _They_  are standing right here," Rachel grumbles.

Santana's gaze travels over the new couple. "You got dressed fast," she notes with a wicked smirk.

"We weren't  _un_ dressed," Quinn argues, slipping an almost protective arm around Rachel's waist.

Brittany floats seamlessly to Santana's side. "You know, sex is better when you're naked," she informs them helpfully.

Rachel's face flushes pink. "We weren't having sex," she insists, and Kurt bites back a snicker because they might not have been doing it this morning but they certainly were last night.

"We were sleeping," Quinn explains calmly.

Santana snickers outright. "With your lips fused together."

A secretive smile flirts with the corners of Quinn's mouth. "It was a good morning kiss," she says, gazing lovingly at Rachel. Kurt grins at the sight of them looking so incredibly happy and coupley, and he decides that they're adorable all over again.

"Looked about thirty seconds away from good morning  _sex_  to me," Santana points out.

Brittany nods her agreement. "Me, too."

"What are you even doing here?" Rachel asks abruptly.

Santana crosses her arms. "I live here. Remember?"

"Santana wanted to come home because she missed you," Brittany tells them all with a smile.

"Britt," she warns lowly. Kurt wonders if he's only imagining the sudden burst of ruddy color staining her cheeks.

"Aw, how sweet," Quinn coos mockingly.

"I'm  _not_ sweet," Santana denies hotly. "I was running out of money."

"So we're totally gonna live here now," Brittany adds with a nod.

Kurt's grin disappears at the looming inevitability of his comfortable loft being overrun with three very different, very intense women—four when Quinn stays over, which will probably be even more often now. He'll never get into the bathroom again! "Well, this day is just off to a wonderful start," he mutters acerbically.

"Isn't it?" Brittany agrees, bouncing over to give him a kiss on the cheek before she slides her arms around Quinn and gives her an exuberant hug that lifts her feet two inches off the ground. "It's so good to see you, Quinn."

Quinn laughs as Brittany sets her back on her feet. "It's good to see you too, Brittany."

"I'm glad you finally got Rachel to give you sweet lady kisses, because I'm so not sharing Santana with you anymore," she says sternly. Kurt notices Rachel frown at the reminder, but Brittany is already slipping an arm around Rachel's shoulder and giving her a quick side hug. Then she lets go, glancing down at Rachel in thoughtful consideration. "Unless you want to share Rachel too. She's kind of hot, and it might be fun for a night."

Rachel's eyes widen, and she immediately tells Brittany, "No!"

"We're  _so_  not into that." Quinn says with a frown, wrapping a possessive arm around Rachel once again—Kurt swears that she even moves her a step away from Brittany.

"Not into it? Or not  _that_  into it?" Santana asks knowingly. "Because I think we  _all_  know there's a difference. Isn't that right, Q?"

Quinn glares at Santana while Rachel shifts uneasily in her embrace, and Kurt has a sinking suspicion that he knows where this is probably heading, and, "I really shouldn't be here for this conversation."

"Oh, relax, Kurtsie. It's only lesbian sex," Santana explains, smirking, "with lots of lady bits and soft, supple…"

"Okay," he cuts her off quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. "Why don't I go make breakfast?" he asks rhetorically, hastily retreating into the kitchen. He really needs to talk to Blaine and convince him to give cohabitation another try—preferably in a cozy apartment of their own, far removed from lady-loving roommates.

He hears Rachel tell Santana, "You are evil," and Santana doesn't argue the point.

"Dead tired too," she adds, "since Britt and I were on a plane all night. We're going to sleep. That is, if you bitches haven't ruined the sheets. Don't disturb us for at least six hours," she demands loudly.

Kurt rolls his eyes as he opens the refrigerator, wondering how many of those six hours will actually be spent sleeping. He should probably tell Blaine that he's coming over sooner rather than later today.

"Quinn and I need to get dressed before you do whatever you're going to do in there," Rachel tries to argue.

"No, you don't. It's  _Sunday_. You don't need to go anywhere until tonight when we all go out to celebrate my triumphant return to New York with my beautiful, extremely hot girlfriend." There's a pause and a muffled moan that makes Kurt think there's some lewd display of affection occurring between Santana and Brittany—thank heavens he can focus his eyesight on the innocent carton of eggs in his hand instead. And then Santana says, "Oh, and I guess we can also celebrate that you finally got your head out of your _own_ ass and your hands on Quinn's instead."

"Hey!" Rachel protests indignantly.

Santana laughs. "Am I lying?"

"Well, she does have a point about that," Kurt calls out, pulling down a small mixing bowl from the cabinet.

"Kurt!" Rachel screeches over Santana's laughter—and Quinn's if his ears aren't deceiving him—as she rushes into the kitchen with scowl. "Don't encourage her."

Quinn follows behind at a more leisurely pace, and—yes, she's definitely laughing too. "Oh honey, as loathe as I am to admit it, Santana does occasionally make a valid point. It's been  _exhausting_  for everyone to watch the two of you dance around your obvious feelings for each other."

"Everyone?" Rachel asks, brows furrowing in confusion, even as Quinn slips her arms around Rachel from behind and rests her chin on Rachel's shoulder.

Kurt smiles as he looks at the two of them. "Ev-er-y-one," he repeats, enunciating every syllable and cracking an egg against the side of the bowl to punctuate it. "You have not been subtle."

Quinn chuckles softly before she turns her head to kiss Rachel's cheek. "We really haven't, Rach," she agrees.

Rachel sighs, leaning back against Quinn and nodding as she lightly traces her fingertips along Quinn's bare forearm. "No, we haven't."

"I'm just glad that you settled your little tiff from yesterday," he muses—they'd  _still_ been tangled together on the sofa in a heated embrace after a full thirty-five and a half minutes, but his appetite had demanded that he interrupt them for dinner. "Because that," and he gestures to the wall that hides the bedroom currently being commandeered by Santana and Brittany, "would not have been conducive to you hugging it out."

Quinn's eyebrow arches. "Like the rational adults that we occasionally can be?" she taunts.

Kurt's hand stills in the middle of cracking another egg. "Was I lying?" he asks playfully, arching his own eyebrow—someday he's going to fully master that particular talent.

Rachel rolls her eyes at his antics. "Okay,  _Santana_."

Kurt feigns indignation, pressing his un-egged hand to his chest. "Please, I'm so much more fabulous than her."

"In your dreams, Lady Hummel," comes in a muted shout from the bedroom.

"How does she do that?" he grumbles under his breath.

"You really need to invest in some doors," Quinn decides, hugging Rachel closer to her. "And walls."

"Tell me about it," Kurt mutters, cracking the egg against the bowl.

Rachel and Quinn seem happy enough to let him cook breakfast for them, and he surreptitiously steals glances at them as they maneuver over to the table. Quinn sits on the chair and gently pulls Rachel into her lap, looping her arms around her waist as they whisper quietly to one another. The storm clouds of yesterday have all dissipated, leaving behind a vibrant rainbow.

Rachel's eyes are alight with happiness again, and he knows that's entirely because Quinn Fabray is in his kitchen.


End file.
